


Tacenda

by Mierin



Series: Nodus Tollens [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Spoilers, F/M, Gender-neutral Reader, M/M, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2016-06-22
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mierin/pseuds/Mierin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Come to say goodbye, ___?” he’s reaching for nonchalance, failing. Before this mess with the Accords began—a lifetime ago—you might have laughed and called him out on it. Now, well now, after everything that has happened, you care just as much as he does (far too much).</p>
<p>“What do you think?”</p>
<p>It’s a cruel question, you know that much even as you’re asking it. But considering the decision you’ve already made, there’s a part of you—the brittle, strained part of your mind that makes sure you can never completely trust anyone—that needs to hear his answer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tacenda

**Author's Note:**

> This is set before the airport fight in CA:CW.

Everything has already begun to fall apart by the time you arrive in Bucharest. Or maybe it’s all gone already and you are a fool to think you can salvage anything from this mess.

And really, it is such a breathtaking mess that you’re almost thankful Coulson had called in a favour which had involved a mission that led to you missing the one in Lagos, and the ensuing disaster in Vienna.

Almost, but not quite, because the very thought of your team tearing itself apart is like a knife to the gut. And you’re more than a little worried about Tony and Nat. And then there’s the fact that Tony had called you as soon as he’d heard from General Ross.

So really there’s nothing for you to do but suppress your instincts—which are screaming that you should stay out of this particular fight—and go to Bucharest to join your friends and sign the blasted Accords.

And that is how you find yourself in a glass cubicle in the middle of some U.N. base—feeling discomfited, out of place, like a predator in a cage—with Tony as your only company, because apparently Nat is busy with something else.

For the first minute or so, you simply stand beside the door, watching Tony watch you. Only when he begins pacing the limited length of the room do you walk over to the chair at the head of the table and sit.

In the end, what feels like several hours later but is really just seconds, he comes to a halt a few paces from you and breaks the loaded silence that has settled over the pair of you.

“Come to say goodbye, ___?” he’s reaching for nonchalance, failing. Before this mess with the Accords began—a lifetime ago—you might have laughed and called him out on it. Now, well now, after everything that has happened, you care just as much as he does (far too much).

“What do you think?”

It’s a cruel question, you know that much even as you’re asking it. But considering the decision you’ve already made, there’s a part of you—the brittle, strained part of your mind that makes sure you can never completely trust anyone—that needs to hear his answer.

He shrugs, still avoiding your gaze. Your eyes momentarily drift away from his face—he isn’t even looking at you anyway— and you make note of his white-knuckled grip on the back of the chair. And you feel a sudden surge of relief as you realize that this is just as hard on him as it is on you.

“I never thought you’d leave,” he admits finally, and then he does look at you, eyes unguarded in a way you’ve never seen before, “but I’ve been wrong before.”

You stand, let out a breath that you hadn’t even realized you were holding, and let the sheer relief you’re feeling seep into your words.

“Well you’re not wrong this time,” you tell him, and watch as his eyes widen in surprise and he releases his death grip on the chair.

“You’re staying?” he asks, shock drowning out everything else and suddenly he is moving towards you, and by the time he realizes what he’s doing and stops himself, he is barely inches from you, too close (not close enough).

“Of course,” your answer is unwavering despite his proximity, and you wait patiently for his reaction.

A few minutes pass in silence—more than enough time for you to begin to hope that your words are sufficient for him— before he asks the question you have been dreading.

“Why?”

You know that telling him the truth is not an option- Tony is a proud man, and you’re almost certain that he’d turn you away if he knew. Oh, if only he knew, that your reasons for staying by his side are as personal as Steve’s are for deserting him.

But there’s no point in dwelling on your feelings for the man in front of you, especially not now, considering all the crap he’s already going through.

So you steel yourself and meet his gaze and find that the lie you’ve been rehearsing rolls off your tongue so much easier than you had thought it would.

“You said it yourself- it’s either accept this and work to make it better, or wait until something even worse is forced on us.”

There’s a part of you that believes in what you’re saying—a tiny, almost extinguished part— but you suppose that’s what helps in your attempt to sell the lie. Because it is a lie, because you had not even needed to consider his arguments, because you had known from the moment he’d called and briefed you about the Accords that you would support him in whatever he chose.

Because the truth at the heart of it all is that you love him. And he can’t find out about that, not now, not like-

“Really?” his tone is deceptively flippant, belying his almost accusatory gaze, “I’m not saying I don’t believe you, ___, but you’re hiding something, I can tell.”

Panic sparks sharply in your mind, and for a second you are frozen, unable to say anything. He’s getting too close to your secret and suddenly you begin to understand that he will uncover it no matter what you say.

“Now’s not the time for this, Tony,” you begin, one last attempt to at least put off the revelation of your feelings, steadily gaining confidence as you speak, “all you need to know is that I’m on your side, I’m not going to just-”

“Stop, ___,” he cuts you off with words that are strangely lacking in anger, and you are so surprised by this that you almost don’t notice him taking your hand, “You’re right, now’s not the time.”

His eyes are soft, warm, as they rest on you, filled with some emotion that you can’t put a name to—a tiny voice in your head whispers that you would see the same in your own eyes if you looked in a mirror while thinking of him—and has he always looked at you like this?

You don’t think you can speak—and sound coherent—even if you try your hardest, so you simply stare at him, waiting.

Sure enough, Tony breaks the spell mere seconds later, dropping your hand and moving away to reach for the copy of the Accords lying across the table. When he places it in front of you along with a pen he pulls from his pocket, you don’t hesitate, despite the fact that he clearly wants to say something.

“Here, go through it, and…”

He trails off, watching you with something close to amazement as you pick up the pen and sign your name with a flourish.

“Or you could just do that, yeah,” he says with a half-shrug, lips quirking with the hint of a smile, “well, Romanoff should be back soon, she’ll bring you up to speed. I have an.. errand to run.. in Queens.”

“Okay,” you tell him, turning away from him, preparing to take a seat and wait for Nat to show up.

Tony’s hand is on your wrist, pulling you back to him before you can actually sit, and for a few seconds his brown eyes bore into yours, until the confusion swirling in them is drowned by determination. And then he is ducking his head to press a kiss to your forehead, lips warm and soft and lingering until your eyes fall shut and you’re almost humming your contentment.

When he releases you and steps away a few minutes later, it is with a palpable sense of reluctance. And even as the minutes drag by and you expect him to turn away and leave, he remains standing in front of you.

“We’ll talk later, Tony, if you want,” you tell him finally when you realize that he is just as lost in this as you are, “once all this over. We’ll have time then.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, and as he ducks his head and clears his throat you think you see a blush staining his cheeks, “that’d be nice.”

He raises a hand in a half-wave that is as awkward as the conversation you have just had, and then he is gone, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

Your mind is still reeling from the events of the past few days, but what really surprises you is the fact that you are not at all nervous. Because somehow you know that everything will be okay. And as for your relationship with Tony, you suspect that will be more than okay, so much more.

So you smile, despite the fact that your world is changing and nothing will ever be the same again. You smile, and you wait.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic turned out differently from what I was aiming for when I first started writing it but I'm still rather happy with it.


End file.
